


Imagined a Thousand Times

by ciarnys



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst...?, F/M, One-Shot, Post-Game, Post-Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 06:40:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3640533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ciarnys/pseuds/ciarnys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had imagined meeting her a thousand times, almost as many as that first kiss on the battlements.<br/>None of them were true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imagined a Thousand Times

He must have imagined their reunion her a thousand times, almost as many as that first kiss on the battlements.

At first worry and despair tainted his memories; had he done something to make her leave? Was she kidnapped? After weeks passed, her maid confessed that Ellana often mentioned leaving after the defeat of Corypheus. Cullen personally paid a visit to Wycome, in the hopes she had gone back to her clan. Her Keeper only shook his head and said that they hadn’t heard from her since he sent the letter to the Inquisition (the Keeper refused to mention Lavellan was illiterate. He wouldn’t betray one of his own. If she left, she had her reasons for doing so). Anger began to be the dominate element in their reunion; he would demand an answer for her disappearance, show her that he was fine without her, that he had healed his broken heart all on his own. After a year he began to lost all hope, and forced himself to stop thinking about her, suppressing the memories of her soft smiles and softer lips. Some days were easier than others.

They were at the war table, dicussing the movement of their troops when the ambassador joined them, her smile wavering. “Commander, Harding, there’s someone we need to see. They’re in the infirmary.” Josephine, usually so composed when speaking about people, clasped her shaking hands, trying to prevent it from going into her voice. She was failing.

Cullen and Harding (promoted to spymaster after Leliana left) exchanged confused glances. Harding shrugged, and Josephine lead the way. He didn’t see what the fuss was; they usually left the nobles to Josephine, who had much more patience to deal with them than they did. There was still the new batch of templars to brief, along with instructions for those who decided to withdraw from lyrium. He still had to send King Alistair a letter confirming the joint-combat sessions with the Ferelden army, and –

“Cullen,” Josephine called softly, reminding him of the present. They were in the infirmary now, and the head healer Alice, a tall woman normally with an open and kind face, was biting her cheek, anger flaming in her eyes. What person would make such an easy-going woman mad? He had seen her treat the worse wounds with nothing but a gentle smile. Looking around, he couldn’t figure out why anyone would want to meet them in the infirmary. Maybe this noble made himself feel better by helping the sick.

The three of them were lead to the back of the room, where a hanging sheet of cloth hid the bed from prying eyes. The cloth obscured the patient, but at the feet of the bed sat a woman with her back to them; an elf, judging by the ears. Her dark green shawl and sensible brown skirt were travel-worn, almost threadbare with an array of patches. Her hair was matted, braided and in a bun, a style Mia often wore in her youth. Unlike Mia, the woman had a long, thin silver pin keeping it in place. She seemed to be crooning something unintelligible to the figure on the bed, rocking back and forth on her chair like a madwoman. Harding looked at him with a raised eyebrow, as confused as he was about their presence here. Why were the commander and spymaster needed for some woman who was short a few cards of a deck?

Josephine was the first to speak. “Hello, Lavellan,” she managed to say, her voice trembling as much as her hands.  
The woman stood up, her chair scraping the floor. Her hand flew to the pin in her hair, but stopped once she saw the people behind her. Slowly lowering her hand, her eyes flickered between the three faces, suspicion written on her face. 

Cullen froze.

He must have imagined their reunion her a thousand times, almost as many as that first kiss on the battlements.

She had disappeared, over two years ago. She fled in the middle of the night, leaving no trace, no letter. They searched for her for months, even asked Leliana for help, but she was never found. The Inquisition was still strong without its leader, but alliances began to waiver, in fear that she would never to return. But now here she stood, dirt-faced and wary, her eyes flitting about the room like a caged animal. Her eyes never stayed in one spot for too long, her body coiled to pounce at the slightest threat. Cullen had no doubt she would have no trouble defending herself weaponless, though he had never seen her practice without a blade. There was something in her stance that declared her ready to kill at the smallest sign.

A pitiful wail broke the silence, and Ellana turned around, skirts flying behind her as she scrambled back to the bed, making soothing sounds. The healer returned, her face flushed as she carried a basin, the anger marking her usually kind face. “The trouble you’ve put her through! Bringing your child through this state ‘cross the Frostbacks! You madwoman, what were you thinking! She’s got the lung-sickness, and you’ve done the worst thing possible, you slattern!” The three advisers stared in shock at the normally placid’s woman language, unused to hearing such crude words from her mouth. Ellana looked completely unfazed, too preoccupied with the patient to listen. Harding, Josephine and Cullen gathered their courage and approached the bed to look at the patient Lavellan was so worried about. Josephine gasped in shock. Harding’s jaw dropped. Cullen stared in disbelief.

He must have imagined their reunion her a thousand times, almost as many as that first kiss on the battlements.  
None of them included a child.

There, on a thin mattress and covered in blankets, slept a small replica of Ellana. The girl had the same brown hair and green eyes. Unlike the woman by her side, her hair was curly, plastered by sweat against her forehead. Her nose was small and upturned. Her lips were thin, her cheeks chubby with youth. Her chin and brow were not Ellana’s. She looked to be no more than six (older than the Inquisition), but it was always hard to tell with elves. “Out, all of you! This girl needs rest, and your muttering isn’t helping!” the healer snapped, pushing Ellana towards the exit. In silence the four stepped outside. Lavellan was in a different world, ignoring everything and pacing back and forth in her worry.

“Where were you?!” Josephine finally cried, her worry breaking the silence. “Oh, but we looked everywhere for you! Rivain, Antiva, Orlais, Nevarra, but no one had seen you at all!”  
“Places,” Ellana responded abruptly, still pacing.  
“Care to share the details, Inquisitor?” drawled Harding.  
“I’m not your Inquisitor,” Ellana immediately snapped and stopped pacing, placing her hands on her hips. Cullen noticed her thin, bony fingers. He knew she was a slim built (he had felt how slim with his own hands), but this was different. He could see her joints where he couldn’t before, face gaunt and sunken, her skin slightly hanging from her bones. There was a faint scar on her forehead, and her shirt shifted enough to reveal an old bruise. In battle she was like the wind, nimble and quick; her companions often returned battered, contrasting starkly against the healthy Inquisitor. _Andraste preserve us, what happened?_

He had imagined meeting her a thousand times, almost as many as that first kiss on the battlements.  
None of them included a wild Ellana.

Cullen bit the inside of his cheek, making his mind pay attention to the present. Lavellan was saying something, anger underlying her voice. “... None of my business, Spymaster. And yes, I know you’re the spymaster, Harding, Leliana was considering you for a promotion for months. I won’t be bothering you for long; Dahlia caught the lung-sickness, and despite Leliana’s best efforts for clinics to the poor, a lot of places refuse to serve elves, especially if it’s just a lone woman and a kid. I could only get the most basic of salves and poultices.” She rubbed her face with her palm, her voice breaking raw with emotion. “She’s all I got left, I can’t see her gone too. Inquisition’s got the best healers, so I risked the pass before Falon’Din claimed her.” He had asked her, made sure she didn’t have a lover, but he realized now that was where the mistake was; he had asked her about a lover, not a family. She had always been careful to only answer what she was asked, ignoring the most obvious of implications.  
_.... I can’t see her gone too.  
_ His brow furrowed. Too? Who else had she lost?

He had imagined meeting her a thousand times, almost as many as that first kiss on the battlements.  
None of them included a stranger.

**Author's Note:**

> I've always imagined my Lavellan leaving after the Inquisition, and wanted to write a short story from Cullen's point of view if she returned. (Is the child hers? Is it not? Who's the father? Why did she never say anything? We may never know).  
> Also, I just realized it would be unlikely Harding would get that promotion. Oh well, I like Harding too much to not give her a position of power.


End file.
